


Siren Song

by TwoCatsTailoring



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore, Violence, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/pseuds/TwoCatsTailoring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm of the opinion that part of the reason that Reno doesn't give Rude more of a bad time is because even Reno has some sense of self-preservation. Rude is scary when he is mad and terrifying when he flies in to a rage - which is his primary character flaw. </p><p>I don't think even anger management courses would help him at this stage.</p><p>Also, I suck at wirting battles and gore and I want to get better at it. So, here's this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren Song

If the  _merrow_  of his youth were real, this would be the song they sang to lure him to his watery death. This thunderous rolling sound that the logical part of his brain knew was just the rush of blood through his veins. But that same logical part of his brain was holding on by the barest thread, everything that it could do focused not on reasoning out how this glorious sound in his ears meshed so very well with the drop of his fists and heels on to the unfortunate beast who stood in his way.

He would not remember this at all, later. Because that logical part of his mind was too busy to bother with things like memories. He would continue to dance tot he siren-song of his own heartbeat, crashing now as adrenaline really kicked in from having taken as much of a beating as he was dishing out, tooth and claw and tusk biting in to his skin.

Ripping apart tender flesh, his blood so fresh and bright mixing with the blue ichor that was beginning to spray now from the monster he'd encountered first. 

Along with the booming sound of his heartbeat came words. Beautiful words like poetry for a blind man. Some language that he would shy from were his mind keen to begin processing exactly what his body was doing. Zeal and fervor mixed with feverish hunger to rip, tear, break through. Bathing in the blood that was everywhere now, striping over tattered threads of his suit, marring the pristine whiteness of his shirt. 

Dripping warm and pleasantly sticky over his skin, between his fingers, up his arms, down his neck, a caress no lover could ever hope to match for satisfaction.

There is no pain in the glide of fang sinking in to his thigh. Nothing but delight in the cracking of his own knuckles when they meet plate-bone, push past it and encounter brain tissue. Nothing but disappointment as the beast falls, twitching to the ground, damaged beyond repair. 

Nothing but near-insatiable hunger and the joy of the song in his ears, his voice raised to match it as he turns to encounter the next Chimera, his grin a sick mask painted with gore.


End file.
